Favorites
by IlluminatedShadow
Summary: They haven't always gotten along. They don't always have the best relationship. They frustrate each other. They fight. They hate. But there's still room for love. Too bad neither of them dares pursue it.  Alfred/Matthew
1. Chapter 1

Pairing: hinted Alfred/Matthew, Matthew/OC (unimportant character though)

Warnings: mentioned sex, weirdness, OOCness, slash

* * *

"Yo, Matt! You home, dude?" Alfred hollered, slamming the door behind him.

Matthew's door had been unlocked, again and just like every other time Alfred came over. No matter how many times he told Matthew the dangers of leaving his door unlocked, the younger nation seemed completely uninterested locking his door.

"What if someone tries to invade you?" Alfred had argued, blue eyes electric.

"The last person to invade me was you brother." Matthew had responded quietly, purple eyes unreadable. "And remember what happened after?" A small smirk flitted across the other blond's face, so fast that Alfred would've missed if he hadn't been studying Matthew intensely.

Of course he remembered. Sometimes his chest still ached and sometimes it felt as though his lungs will still filled with that acrid, invasive smoke.

Alfred sighed, a pout forming on his lips when Matthew did not immediately appear to greet him. He thought for a moment that maybe his brother was having issues with his visibility—again—and that Matt was actually across from him. But the house was quiet and, after checking the garage and seeing his brother's car, Alfred concluded that the other was probably either asleep or studying his bear's eyelashes.

Glancing wistfully down at the baseball and gloves in his hands, Alfred then proceeded to toss them into the nearest corner and ambled into the kitchen to explore the contents of the fridge. So much for a friendly game of catch with Matthew.

"Syrup. Syrup. More syrup." Blue eyes darted over each food item but nothing Alfred found seemed appetizing, except maybe the hamburger meat but he was banned from ever cooking in Matthew's kitchen after the Pizza Incident of '88.

Guess he'd just have to eat all of Matthew's chips.

"Come to papa." He murmured, grabbing two bags from the pantry, ripping them both open, and pouring the contents of each into a giant bowl.

Grabbing a fistful, the blond was just about to shove the potato-y goodness into his mouth when a soft creak behind him caught his attention.

Immediately, the superpower whirled around, a ready smile on his face. "Yo, Mattie! I was just wondering when…" Pacific blue eyes hardened as Alfred took in the sight of a young man who was definitely not his younger brother. "Who're you?" He asked, voice low as he stared hard at the stranger.

The young man looked somewhat terrified. "J-james."

Alfred blinked slowly, studying the shaking man before him. It was then he realized that this James was one of his and something in him softened.

"Well, James, you're not some serial killer or deranged psycho are you?" He asked casually, stuffing the chips into his mouth. "'Cause I'll be honest, I'll have to detain you and I'm packin' heat."

James shook his head furiously, his shaggy brown hair falling into his face. "No, I'm a business major."

"I wouldn't necessarily say that's much better." Alfred chuckled, feeling somewhat more at ease knowing that this scrawny guy in front of him wasn't a bloodthirsty killer planning on cannibalizing his baby brother.

(No, he did not have an overly active imagination. It was a justified assumption. Matthew did, after all, tend to attractive some freaks. Holland and Prussia, just to name a few.)

James smiled weakly. "I actually have to leave now. Otherwise he'll wake up and it'll be…" He shifted nervously. "awkward."

Alfred raised a golden brow before realization dawned on his face. "Oh. You and Matt. You…two…_oh_." He said dumbly, feeling somewhat numb as a dark blush rose on James's face and the young man practically fled from his view, shutting the door behind him.

Alfred let out an unsteady breath, staring down at the bowl of chips in his hands, feeling his appetite bleed away.

* * *

Alfred paused, wavering in the doorway of Matthew's bedroom. The nation of Canada was sprawled out on the bed, cotton sheets draped messily over his lower half and face turned away and into the pillow. He couldn't stop the affectionate smile that blossomed on his face.

"Do you plan to stand there all day?" A quiet voice asked, amused.

"Well, I do have a nice view from over here." Alfred quipped, grinning widely when Matthew rolled over and fixed him with a sleepy frown.

"Its creepy." The younger blond admitted. "You just hovering in the doorway." He smiled and patted the empty space next to him. "Want to sit?"

Alfred's smile sharpens minutely. "Not until you change the sheets, bro."

Matthew just stares at him before sighing. "So you saw James." He looks somewhat guilty, twisting away and curling up facing the opposite wall.

It's funny. Its not the first time Alfred has met one of Matthew's one night stands. But it's the same thing every time.

The older nation just shrugs, walking over to his brother's side and nudging him until Matthew grudgingly scoots over. Alfred can feel the heat radiating from Matthew's bare, sun-warmed skin and he sort of wants to glide his fingertips across his brother's chest and maybe drag his fingers down the flat plane of his stomach. When the other nation looks up at him with nervous eyes, biting at his lower lip, Alfred wants to kiss him until Matthew is straining for breath, clawing at his shoulders and whimpering deep in his throat.

But he doesn't do any of those things. Because this is one of those moments where he's not quite sure where he stands with the other and he isn't entirely sure so he just decides to be the big brother who doesn't have pseudo-incestuous fantasies where he's pinning his near-twin to the ground, wrapping Matthew's lean legs around his hips and driving deep into the other's heat while gripping supple skin so hard it bruises.

"He's a business major." Alfred just says, off-handedly. He can't help but imagine James bending over his brother, greedily drinking in all Matthew gave (and Matthew often gave all).

Matthew makes a vaguely interested noise, pushing back stray strands of hair while blinking back the last dregs of sleep.

"Is that your type?" The older blond prompts.

Matthew laughs, a clear, bell-like laugh that makes the blue-eyed nation's stomach twist. His violet eyes shine in mirth and he comfortingly pats Alfred's jean-clad thigh.

"Are you jealous Al?" He asks, voice deliberately innocent. He sits up slowly, sheet falling to pool around his waist. He leans forward, one hand pressed against Alfred's thigh. Matthew's eyes are wide, framed by long lashes unhindered by glasses.

Alfred can smell cologne that Matthew never used and he can see the damning scarlet splotches marring the other's nearly unblemished skin. Part of him is angry, and bristling at the way Matthew is treating him.

Another part of him is almost hurt.

It's times like this Alfred thinks Matthew is genuine. He's not the soft-spoken, beloved son of France. He's not the oft-forgotten colony of England.

He's not everything France and England wanted him to be. Rather, he is everything they taught and were. He is everything he hid away because he didn't want to chase away his guardians.

It is times like this that Matthew indulges the cruelty and frigidity dormant in his heart, the fury and bitterness that twisted him into a monster during wartime. Its times like these that there is more shadow in his eyes and frost on his lips because Matthew is letting his demons see daylight.

But only with Alfred because Alfred cannot leave him because they are too tightly intertwined and dependent on each other.

And even if it weren't so, Alfred cannot see him abandoning Matthew.

Matthew knows this.

"I'm not jealous." Alfred says with an easy laugh, pushing Matthew away and standing to his feet.

Matthew is silent, gaze focused on his bed sheets.

Alfred turns to leave but Matthew's hand shoots out and his thin fingers shoot out to grasp the other's wrist.

"I don't have a type." Matthew admitted quietly, breath catching slightly. His fingers are warm. "Because there is only one person."

Alfred says nothing, head tilting thoughtfully to the side. A small part of him squeals in excitement, hope flaring that maybe, just maybe, that person is him because, really, who else could it be?

But, then he thinks that maybe this is just Matthew being mean and that maybe it means nothing.

And maybe that person is Arthur.

It wouldn't be the first time Matthew chose Arthur over him, after all.

* * *

I don't even know. This has been floating around in my head all week and I couldn't get rid of it. I couldn't take it anymore so I quickly typed it out. -shrugs- I know vaguely how to continue it but I don't know. We'll see. Hehe, I have A LOT that I need to complete.


	2. Chapter 2

Right, so this story will be more like a series of one-shots, connected but not completely linear. This part is a flashback, explaining one of the last lines of the chapter. Guys, just a warning, I'm not in the best mood. As a result, this is not the most fun/coherent part. This story, itself, is not cheery so please don't read it as a little pick-me-up. But, I do hope that you enjoy it nonetheless.

Warnings: language, violence, OOC-ness

Pairing: Alfred/Matthew

Disclaimer: I don't deserve to own Hetalia.

* * *

Alfred pauses outside the room briefly, gathering his courage before twisting the knob and pushing the door open. Normally he would not hesitate entering a room, especially not Matthew's room. The door wouldn't even be shut.

But lately things haven't been well between them and it hurts Alfred more than he ever thought it could.

Matthew's room is dark and his bed is still and Alfred realizes that Matthew must still be awake, sitting in the parlor.

The thought twists his heart because he knows Matthew isn't awake because he can't sleep. He's awake because he's afraid to sleep with Alfred in the house. Matthew doesn't trust him. He can see it in his brother's wide violet eyes.

Matthew can't stand to be around him, but is too kind and too shrewd to lock him out.

Alfred's lips curl into a sneer as he tugs the door shut and leans against the heavy wood.

And to think, their once strong relationship is unraveling because of Arthur.

Matthew loves Arthur.

Alfred hates Arthur.

Alfred is tired of living under Arthur's heavy hand. He's tired of playing by someone else's rules, of surviving only by the grace of another, at the beck and call of a tiny island an ocean away. His people are restless. He is restless. He had asked nicely and Arthur had laughed in his face.

He would have his freedom, even if he had to kill for it.

The ambitious blond had asked his younger brother. He thought Matthew, still new to Arthur's sole control and devastated by the abandonment of his once beloved Papa and hurting from the loss of his people and confused by his own identity, would jump at the opportunity to free himself from Arthur's grasp.

But Matthew had merely looked at him, violet eyes shadowed and face honest, and shook his head. He had defended the Englishmen, showing loyalty to, in Alfred's mind, deserved none of it. When Alfred had argued, Matthew's eyes had sparked with anger and he began to fight back verbally.

They had both ended up in a screaming match. Alfred, blue eyes blazing, told Matthew that he would never be good enough for anyone because he was a coward and weakling, that Arthur would never love him like he loved Alfred, and that his precious Papa had turned his back on him but was aiding Alfred.

Something in Matthew's face had crumpled at Alfred's words. But before Alfred could revel in his victory or kick himself for being the one to hurt Matthew so, the other colony had whispered, eyes frozen, "I hate you."

And those words burned.

Furious and more than a little heartbroken, Matthew's words echoing in his skull, Alfred had stormed up to his room, leaving a wilted Matthew behind.

Now he wanted to try again. Perhaps he had been too abrasive the first time. Maybe now he needed to try a gentler approach. Matthew was, at the moment, incredibly fragile. It was almost pitiable how far Matthew had withdrawn.

Alfred's earlier memories were of a northern child whose beauty hid a heart colder than the snow blanketing his lands. They had first met, shortly before the arrival of their guardians, by accident. Matthew, at first glance, was docile and sweet-tempered. But he was spoilt, pampered by doting Europeans and emboldened by the understanding that he was a source of contention between the two. He had been proud, held his head high and tossed his golden hair in a self-assured manner.

But as time went on and the boy, astute despite his relative youth, realized that the men who battled for him cared nothing for him—simply what he could give—the light that shone brightly in his eyes began to dim. He was learning that his importance was not so great as he assumed and the revelation was painfully humbling. He began to hate the attention, the lusty eyes, drifting away until he seemed to disappear from sight. His eyes were often unfocused and dark and troubled. He wouldn't eat, would disappear for hours into the forest with his bear, and slip into strange tongues unknowingly and unwillingly.

Alfred, who had taken one look at those pretty violet eyes, fell in love and decided that the boy, no matter what, would always be with him and they would love each other and need no one else. When Matthew came to stay with him and Arthur after his numerous demands to the Englishman, he had been ecstatic. He had stayed close to Matthew, petting his hand and whispering his love into the other's soft hair. He had comforted Matthew through the rocky first years with Arthur and gradually the other colony warmed to him while his eyes grew more focused by the days.

Unfortunately, Matthew warmed to Arthur as well. He clung to the sandy-haired man at times—as though if he even looked away, Arthur would disappear—, climbing into his lap or squirming under his arm, eyes wide and head tilted and lips pursed for a quick kiss. Arthur, rejoicing at the affection from the once aloof and feral child who seemed to favor his rival so much, welcomed the attention and returned it in his own, awkward way.

Alfred walked lightly down the unlit hallway, stilling when he heard low murmuring from the parlor. Heart sinking to his stomach, he peeked around the corner and froze at what he saw.

"My apologies for dropping in unannounced." Alfred's blood froze.

"Its no problem." He heard Matthew whisper.

Tiptoeing closer to the doorway, Alfred peeked in and saw Arthur settle into the armchair, giving Matthew a tired smile. Matthew returned it with a small smile of his own, hovering near Arthur.

Neither party noticed him.

"Tea?"

"No, its fine, Matthew."

Matthew nodded, taking a seat in the chair across from Arthur. "Is everything alright?"

"I just need to be away from those wretches in Europe." Arthur muttered, massaging his temples. "They think I'm becoming weak."

Matthew offered no comfort or confirmation.

"I much prefer it here, anyways." Arthur said briskly, then asking in a kind voice. "And how are you, lad?"

"Fine."

Arthur didn't seem pleased by the answer, but didn't push the boy to speak more. Instead he said, "I've brought you something. I…I thought you'd want it."

Matthew's eyes widened. "You didn't have to—"

"I know that, Matthew." Arthur interrupted. "But I wanted to. Now come here."

Obediently, Matthew rose from his seat and stood in front of Arthur, fidgeting only slightly. Reaching into the abyss of his heavy coat, Arthur retrieved a leather-bound volume and pushed it towards his colony.

"You weren't able to finish it before you left." Arthur said awkwardly, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "I thought you might want to…"

Matthew said nothing, staring down at the book with an unreadable expression on his face. The longer the silence dragged on, the more discomfort showed on their guardian's face. "Perhaps…perhaps I was mistaken." He said, voice low. "However I did raise you to be polite, Matthew. You—"

Matthew shook his head, eyes fluttering shut and he let the book drop onto the side table. Wordlessly, he slipped into Arthur's lap and wrapped his arms around the older nation's neck.

"I know why you're here and you don't need to worry." Matthew muttered into the other's neck. "I don't want to go with him. I don't. Please, Arthur, please…"

And Alfred's vision tunnels and all he sees is red and all he can feel is fury and he can't breathe.

Detachedly, he watches Arthur return the other's embrace, cradling the back of his head. "Of course, my boy. Don't worry."

And Alfred wants to lash out, but he settles for clenching his fists because Matthew has made his choice and it isn't him.

* * *

"I'm surprised you're even here." Alfred said coolly, casually lowering his musket as the figure before him glanced back.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Matthew asked lightly, stepping forward and unaffected by the night chill.

The two are on the outskirts of York. In the background both men hear screams and shots fired, but neither shows remorse or fear.

"I thought Arthur would have you safely locked away in London." The new nation sneered.

Matthew gives him a pitying smile and steps forward, out of the shadows, and the moonlight illuminates him and his red coat, blond hair pulled back neatly. His face is still far too young and innocent and Alfred feels his hands tremble.

"You're still angry." Matthew says in wonderment. "Really, Alfred—"

"Shut up." Alfred spat out, hands tightening around his weapon. "If you think that innocent act is going to work on me, then you're a damn fool—"

"What act?" Matthew interrupted, voice deceptively kind. "And really, Al, you shouldn't say such things. But diplomacy was never your strength."

Alfred swoops forward, grabbing Matthew by the collar as he proceeds to manhandle his younger brother towards the town. Matthew swears and only begins to struggle, swinging up his own musket that Alfred knocks out of his hand and tightens his grip so the other blond gasps for air. There is no gentleness and the only mercy Alfred ever displayed was that he didn't throw Matthew down and proceed to drag him to the center of town by his golden locks as his citizens and Alfred's soldiers ran around them, the noise increasing dramatically.

When they reach the center, Alfred shoves Matthew to the ground before kneeling behind the fallen boy and grasping his hair and tugging his head up. "You could've avoided all of this." He snarled, resisting the urge to smash Matthew's indifferent face into the cobblestone.

Matthew is quietly panting, though his face is stony.

Both males watch in silence as the scent of burning wood begins to reach them, following shortly by the roar of a fire that could only be from Hell itself. Soon the buildings are engulfed and the flames strain for the inky sky, licking the stars and burning the air.

Alfred watches, satisfied and entranced by the vivid scarlet and orange and gold of the blaze.

Matthew is silent, violet eyes unblinking and the blaze is reflected in the depths of his gaze. And then he speaks, suddenly, voice wispy and low. "You're a bastard."

"Its war." You're one to speak. "Feel bad yet?"

"If you mean do I regret staying with Arthur, then no." Matthew said in that same voice. "And you can burn my capital every day if you want, but that won't change anything."

"You…you…" Alfred was seething. "Goddamn you. What does he…just…why him? Why him?" His rage finally bubbles over and it's so good to finally tear into his infuriating northern brother. "Tell me, brother dearest, why did you stay with him? What is it Matthew? Is it his power? His strength? His wealth? Tell me, does he kiss you goodnight? Does he love you more than I do? Than I ever could?"

"Alfred, please…" Matthew isn't looking at him, he's looking away and it does nothing to soothe Alfred's rage.

"Why did you want to stay with him so badly? I'd protect you, you know that. I'd give you anything and I wouldn't even want anything in return. I bet he's not like that. Old pervert probably forces you to undress in front of him. Huh, Matthew? Does he? _Does he? Do you let him?_" He's breathing heavily, but he doesn't stop, leaning closer and hissing. "Do you let him touch you? Do you let him pin you down and enter you like a woman? Do you moan like a whore? Do you spread your legs each night hoping to keep him? Hoping that he doesn't abandon you—"

"Shut up!" Matthew shrieks, elbow flying back and crashing into Alfred's nose. The rising nation swears and jumps up, stumbling backwards as Matthew shoots to his feet, grabbing Alfred's musket as he does. "What do you even know?" His face is furious and flushed and Alfred just gawks at him, blood flowing freely from his nose. "It's not like that, not even close!" Matthew snarls stepping forward and shoving his near twin. "You jealous twit!" His accent has sharpened and his voice is like a dagger.

"Its not?" He gives a bark of laughter, watching in near delight as Matthew's face darkens. "My brother, the harlot."

"You ass." Matthew is shaking in rage. "What do you even know?" He shakes his head, laughing. "You were always the favorite son, Alfred. You never had to suffer. You never woke up and found out that you had been left alone again. No, no everyone fought over you." He's glared now. "Sunny, cheerful Alfred. Welcoming and warm, not at all like that 'icy wasteland to the north'." Matthew looks close to tears now. "You weren't sickly or expensive. You had the good fortune of being able to seize independence." Silvery tracks mar Matthew's cheeks but the boy doesn't wipe at them. "You call me a whore, a harlot. And maybe I am, but I know I can't take the same risks as you. You called me a coward, but I can't just gamble what little I have. I can't…" He chokes out, body shaking as he resolutely lifts the musket, expression a little regretful and broken. "I made one of the most difficult decisions of my life that day, Alfred. I love you, Al, but I will shoot you if you don't turn around, right now, and get out of my home." He says firmly, no trace of tears in his voice despite the tears clinging to his eyelashes, framed by the tall flames.

* * *

I really hope no Canadian readers kill me. I swear, I had no intention of portraying Canada as a slut or bad in anyway. He's not. America is just pissed and jealous. Canada, truly, just did what he thought was the best thing to do for his people and himself. See, I see France as knowing exactly how to manipulate people and how to behave and what to say at all times. I think Canada inherited that ability. Therefore, he manipulated England into thinking he was weak so England wouldn't leave him. But also, he's terrified of being abandoned again-think back to the Nordics and Vinland. I imagine that Canada was aware that entire time and all that time alone up in the north shaped his mentality. Alfred never once believed that act, but Matthew was always more honest with Al. They do love each other, really. But Canada just can't drop everything to be with America. But I'll write a sweeter part displaying the affection between the two probably soon.

Comments? Questions? Concerns?...Flames? -winces- I think I might have some coming...


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